Christina Piasecka yr 9
24th March 1856
To my Diary,
I, Vincent Street, at the age of 26 years have decided to write a diary in hope that one of my family may find it or for it to be passed down through history so the generations to come know of how it was on the convict era of the Swan River colony.
My beginnings were simple and happy. I came from a family of carpenters. We owned a small poor business, run my older brother John Paul when our mother and father passed away. I was greatly saddened by this but things brightened up when I met Frances Blackwell. Frances was sixteen, at the time and I was only a year older. Thirteen months later, we married. Eight years later, we have two daughters, Sarah (6) and Emily (5), and one son, Thomas (3). The last time I saw them they were only 3, 2 and 5 months. May God be with them.
Steadily, things got from bad to worse. The family finally crashed when my brother became ill. We were all starving and our clothes resembled rags. It became too much for me and so one day I saw an opportunity to steal, which I quickly decided to take. May God have mercy on my soul. I was caught. Exhaustion and lack of food finally caught up. I passed out.
I woke up days after to be told I had been convicted, while I was unconscious, and I was to be transported to Australia for seven years. The blood drained from me all together. June 13th of 1854 was the worst day of my life. All for a loaf of bread and one pair of trousers.
The trip to Australia was terrible. We were cramped into tiny little cells. Perfect for disease to spread. Rat got into everything. Not a single convict washed, everything was unhygienic. There were clearly not enough supplies. I do not remember most of the trip. I became sick, from scurvy, and was at death's door nearly all the time. It must have been a sign from God. To make it through my sentence and get back home, to my family. That God forsaken trip lasted nine months.
When we, finally, reached the swan river we were all in high spirits. Maybe this was a new start. It was not to be so. There was barely enough food since the land was not fertile. It felt oddly like sand.
Everything was so dry and hot. To keep the convicts from escaping we were all chained together or to a large plough. Forced to work hard from dawn to dusk. Luckily, that is now in the past. Men who were skilled as traders were allowed to gain a ticket-of-leave. I, as a carpenter, requested a paid job but was ignored, by the marines. About six months later fortune decided to sway my way as I realised that a sqad of marines had replaced the original class. I took my chance and asked for a ticket-of-leave, as a carpenter. A small company who was looking for its tenth and final worker quickly snapped me up.
Maybe this place was not so bad after all. Maybe a little bit weird with it's odd looking trees which look like they don't even know what a drink is; occasionally, annoying because someone who has not committed a crime (free settler) hates you in an instant and won't even look you in the eye, but overall things are coming together and getting better. For now, I just pray that Frances, Sarah, Emily and Thomas are safe and alive.
Vincent Smith,
Of Manchester
SOSE and English